My dad was flushed in the face and banging fiercely on the hood of the truck when I awoke. Peering bleary eyed out of the foggy windows of the cab I tried to make out the booming words coming out of his mouth.
He looked angry, but mostly scared. I wasn’t sure. I was seven. His eyes were frantic. It was all a blur.
A lazy sun wasn’t all the way over the hills and a patchwork of far off timber wafted an orange mist into the horizon as beads of frost sparkled off of the chrome of the door mirrors. Only hours earlier I’d been awoken in a similar fashion by my father, except instead of sleeping inside a Ford pickup I’d been tucked soundly into my dinosaur sheets at home. Even then, in the longest and darkest hours that linger before first light, he was already roaring like a tea kettle while I lurched about all blinded by the bedroom light.
Pulling on my long johns and layering t-shirts like a Goodwill mummy I prepared to enter the unknown; The outside before daylight. Grabbing a paper sack of premade peanut butter sandwiches lunches off the counter my dad ushered me out the door and through the black drape of night and into the warm cab of the already rumbling truck.
As we made our way through empty city streets I was still functionally asleep. An AM radio droned low as I leaned into the strap of the seatbelt and watched the lines go by, nodding off to the dulcet tones and the rhythm of the road. As we pulled off of rural West Side Highway onto a gravel spur I remember animals in the road. Their eyes glowed huge and yellow in the headlights. They seemed flummoxed by our presence in those burgling hours but showed no inclination to cede the right of way as they contemplated their next move and flippantly delayed our arrival.
Easing into a stop near a blackberry bluff my father turned off the truck and told me it was time. Only a hint of light eased the void of night as the headlights faded and a mad rush of angry air washed over my face as my father opened his door and stepped eagerly into the January morning.
With gear in hand he headed to a break in the thicket and hollered for me to follow. Dutifully, if begrudgingly, I obeyed. By the time I caught up he already had his knife out.
“Do you know how to do this?” he asked me.
Having watched at least several times over the years I replied in the affirmative. It was a lie of course, but it seemed to early to admit otherwise.
Keen to my lack of confidence he said he’d show again but made me promise to pay close attention so I would actually learn this time. Slicing the line with expert precision he held it in his fingertips and threaded the angled end through the eye of the lure. Making use of his West Point dropout training he doubled the line over like monofilament origami in order to create the perfect knot that would not inhibit the spin of the spinner.
This was very important he explained. After all, spinning is what a spinner does.
“You know what else a spinner does?” my dad asked me as I blew into my already freezing hands. “They catch fish.”
Too tired to laugh and too cold to think I did not laugh and instead mumbled incoherently as I tried to retrace the steps to tying a perfect line. Alas, the attempt was futile and I soon abandoned my effort, instead reserving myself to passively shivering in the purple morning air.
Unphased my dad walked to the shoreline and heaved his handiwork from atop a sandy perch on the high bank of the Cowlitz River. I could scarcely make out the water through the darkness and there was no way to tell where the cast had landed but the splash was clear as day.
Setting the rods into anchored pole holders I was instructed to watch the only thing I could see; The hypnotic bob-and-tap of the rod tip as it bowed from the river current. Soon, each irregular movement seemed as though it must be a fish. Time moved slowly at that age, at that time, and in this memory. In retrospect, as a newcomer to the pursuit perhaps my expectations were set too high. Or maybe my patience was just short because I was seven years old standing in the predawn winter cold waiting for a fish with a notoriously finicky appetite to bite.
No one will ever know.
In any case, when that first cast failed to provide a fish within what I arbitrarily deemed a reasonable amount of time I quickly began to lose steam. Uncomfortable and making an annoyance of myself, I’m sure, I was offered the option of begging out and sleeping off my crankiness in the truck. It was an offer I eagerly accepted and I shamelessly shuffled off to sack out.
Despite the drool running down my cheek it seemed I had only just closed my eyes when the booming yelling and the banging on the hood jolted me upright. A hurricane of confusion swirled around me until suddenly two words settled into place like the Wheel of Fortune: “Fish On!”
Fumbling with the door handle and flailing in my jacket I stumbled out of the truck and found the line on my rod taught and heaving up and down with mighty tugs. Grabbing the reel and praying that my fingers wouldn’t fail me I held the rod tight to my hip as my dad taught me how to play a fish ten times the size of the rainbows I was used to.
It was so hard not to aggressively pull back against the desperate tugs of the fish. It was even harder not to crank the reel with the speed that only a Hungry Hungry Hippo grand champion first-grader like myself could muster. Against every inclination I managed to learn that it’s okay to let a fish play themselves out. I learned to appreciate the fight and discern the differences in the pulses transmitted from the mouth of the fish through the line and into my hand. Those vibrations tell a vivid story of a sight unseen, but sensed in living color.
Ever so slowly I worked the fish to shore as my father scrambled down the bluff to the waterline with his long handled net in hand. Holding the rod tip as high as I could he reached out and brought the net up around the bottom of the fish before bringing it to land.
As I looked over my first ever winter steelhead I felt the energy from the fight transmitted into my pounding heart and radiating throughout my tingling body. The sun topped the trees and cast long shadows. Its light shimmered off of the silver scales and fickle flecks of green and purple sparkled and vanished as it twisted violently in my hand while I posed for a keepsake photo.
Catching steelhead wasn’t so tough I foolishly thought to myself as I wiped my hands and retreated to the truck to warm up one more time. In fact, I nearly managed to do it with my eyes closed.
My father, of course, knew better but decided in his grace not to let on. In silence he set the lines again and then moved on to cleaning my catch in the river. As the guts washed downstream he contemplated the benefits of teaching a little boy to fish. If all goes according to plan, it could help to turn him into a man and feed him for a lifetime. And in the meantime, the Dad Rules have always dictated that a good son has to share his catch with his pa.
FISHIN’
As we switch calendars most area rivers are still in flux as they transition from silver season to winter steelhead. High, turbid waters aren’t helping out the angling odds at all but as sure as the days are getting longer the prospects are also bound to pick up steam.
“The only place that I’ve heard of this week was one of my customers came in and he’d got himself a very nice steelhead on the Willapa,” said bait huckster Jerry Barr at the Sunbirds sportings goods desk in Chehalis on Wednesday.”
According to Barr it’s only a matter of time before more hungry steelhead start showing up in the Chehalis and Willapa river systems.
“They should be coming in any time now. We’re just waiting for the water to come down.” said Barr. “We’re on the cusp. Winter steelhead should start popping up here pretty darn quickly. Probably in the next couple of weeks it should start to take off here especially on the Skookumchuck.”
Anglers fishing the Chehalis, Wynoochee, Satsop, and Humptulips rivers have a daily limit of two hatchery steelhead or coho. Additionally, anglers are allowed to fish for chum salmon in the Nisqually River. In Willapa Bay and its tributaries anglers are held to a limit of just one adult salmon per day.
“Most anglers do best when water levels are rising or dropping,” said WDFW fish biologist Joe Hymer in a prospect report.. “It’s a lot harder to catch steelhead in the peaks and troughs.”
Hymer noted forecasted rain has prospects looking up in the Lower Columbia River basin. He recommended trying the Lewis, Washougal and Elochoman rivers, along with Salmon Creek in Clark County in early January. He added that the Cowlitz and Kalama rivers traditionally get hot later in the month.
However, Barr is not nearly as optimistic as Hymer about the outlook for the Cowlitz. He noted that since WDFW winter steelhead stocking efforts ended several years ago the once notorious fishery isn’t likely to put many fish on the hook this year.
“It will probably be a real bust,” said Barr. “I tried on New Year’s Eve morning out on the Cowlitz and didn’t do anything and didn’t see anybody else touch a fish,” said Barr, who was trying his luck up near Barrier Dam. The Blue Creek area near the trout hatchery has also been slow recently.
As of Jan. 1 anglers have been able to harvest white sturgeon between Bonneville Dam and The Dalles Dam seven days a week. Anglers are allowed one white sturgeon measuring 38 inches to 54 inches long per day on that section of the Columbia and its adjacent tributaries. The lower Columbia below Bonneville remains closed to sturgeon retention but catch-and-release fishing is allowed.
Local lakes are likely the best place to bide your time until the winter steelies start showing up. South Lewis County Park Pond and Lake Mayfield near the trout hatchery have been fishing well lately and the WDFW has continued their trout stocking efforts in other nearby waters. In Clark County Battle Ground Lake was planted with 4,115 rainbow trout including 30 fish weighing one pound each and 85 half-pound fish while Klineline Pond received 2,000 fingerling rainbows. In Cowlitz County Lake Sacajawea and Kress lake were both planted with 800 rainbows weighing more than a pound each.
HUNTIN’
In the first few weeks of the new year waterfowl hunting will be all the rage with the resident grease smeared, camo clad, pond stalking crowd. Most duck and goose seasons will continue through Jan. 28, except for Goose Management Area 2 (Pacific County), which is limited to Saturdays, Sundays and Wednesdays only and set to close on Jan. 14. Area 2 will then reopen
Locally, the Centralia Mine is a particularly bountiful waterfowl hunting area. In Thurston County there are areas around the Nisqually Wildlife Refuge as well as Henderson, Budd, and Eld inlets that regularly put birds in the crosshairs. In Pacific and Grays Harbor counties the duck and goose hunting opportunities are largely concentrated around the Willapa and Chehalis river valleys, often in flooded farm fields. Ducks can also be found in both Grays Harbor and Willapa Bay.
On Wednesday the WDFW announced restrictions to brant hunting in Skagit County that will be offset with expanded opportunities elsewhere. Skagit County, where fewer birds than expected have been showing up, will now be limited to a three-day brant hunt on Jan. 6, 10 and 13 while Clallam and Whatcom counties, where brant populations have been increasing, will see renewed hunting seasons.
Kyle Spragens, WDFW waterfowl section manager, noted in a press release that the restrictions were ordered after aerial bird counts conducted in Skagit County indicated numbers did not meet the 6,000 birds required for a full eight-day hunting season for high arctic brant.
“The number of hunting days is directly related to how many brant are counted during those surveys,” Spragens said in a press release. “These low counts require us to prioritize conservation responsibilities for this distinctive, coastal species, while providing harvest opportunity when appropriate.”
This is the second time in three years that brant hunts in Skagit County have been reduced. Meanwhile, increasing numbers in Clallam and Whatcom counties have allowed for the first brant hunting opportunities in decades. Those hunts will occur on Jan. 6, 10 and 13.
The traditional 10-day brant season in Pacific County will open Jan. 6, 7, 9, 11, 13, 14, 16, 18, 20 and 21.
Cougar seasons remain open in most units and hunts for bobcat, fox and raccoon will continue through Mar. 15. Snowshoe hare and cottontail rabbits will also have to beware through the Ides of March. Hares are predominantly found in the forest lands of western Washington, especially on the western edge of the Olympic Peninsula. Rabbits on the other hand are most prolific in the shrub and grasslands of Thurston and Pierce counties.
With big game season over hunters should remember to report their hunting activity from 2017 no later than Jan. 31. Reports are required for each special permit and every elk, deer, bear, moose, bighorn sheep, mountain goat and turkey tag purchased. Failure to report results in a $10 penalty the next time a hunter goes to purchase a license. Anyone who reports by Jan. 10 will be entered into a drawing for a special incentive permit. Hunt reports may be filed by phone at 877-945-3492 or at wdfw.wa.gov.
Looking ahead, hunters who hope to grab a spring bear can begin the process of applying for permits. The application process opened up on Jan. 2 and will continue through February.
CLAMMIN’
The sparkling weather that graced a set of twin New Years clam digs on coastal beaches made sure that they were marked a success by everyone who went, even if they didn’t return with buckets overflowing.
“I can tell you there were a lot of folks out!” said WDFW coastal shellfish manager, Dan Ayres in an email to The Chronicle. “We had some impressive crowds of happy diggers mostly taking home limits of razor clams. I am sure the good weather and low surf were major contributors.”
Indeed, statistics compiled by the WDFW show that plenty of diggers rang in the new year by firing their clam guns into the sand. Most diggers were even rewarded with at least modest returns for their crisp evening efforts, with some creamsicle sunsets to boot.
Long Beach and Copalis were only open for New Year’s Eve. The World’s Longest Beach drew 10,048 diggers who brought home a haul of 10.2 clams each while 4,863 diggers turned up at Copalis and dug an average of 13.5 clams each. Twin Harbors and Mocrocks were open for both New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day and a total of 9,299 and 8,037 diggers showed up, respectively. Those diggers took home 13.3 clams each cumulatively at Twin Harbors while the Mocrocks crew tallied 14.5 clams each during the set of digs.
Hannah Whitten and T.J. Catlin were a pair of locals who headed out to Long Beach on New Year’s Eve. A pair of Castle Rock natives the couple hit the beach in Ocean Park just down the road from Jack’s Grocery Store.
“We only got five clams. It was a bad dig,” said Whitten. She added that she still enjoyed the excuse to get out to the beach and try to spark up a new tradition, noting that, “Any day spent with Teej is a good one,” and, “At least the sun was pretty.”
In December the WDFW announced tentative plans for openings later this month that would stretch into February. Final approval of those digs will be dependent upon marine toxin testing conducted about a week and a half before the tides. Those tentative dates include:
Jan. 28, Sunday, 4:06 p.m.; -0.4 feet; Mocrocks
Jan. 29, Monday, 4:59 p.m.; -1.0 feet; Copalis
Jan. 30, Tuesday, 5:47 p.m.; -1.5 feet; Twin Harbors, Mocrocks
Jan. 31, Wednesday, 6:33 p.m.; -1.6 feet; Long Beach, Twin Harbors, Copalis
Feb. 1, Thursday, 7:17 p.m.; -1.5 feet; Long Beach, Twin Harbors, Mocrocks
Feb. 2, Friday, 8:00 p.m.; -1.0 feet; Long Beach, Twin Harbors, Copalis
Feb. 3, Saturday, 8:42 p.m.; -0.4; Long Beach, Twin Harbors, Mocrocks
State law allows each digger to keep up to 15 clams so long as they keep the first 15 they dig. Diggers age 15 and up are required to have a license and all diggers must carry their own clams in their own container.
BIRDIN’
Birders are afoot as their fine feathered friends are on the wing during their winter migrations and salmon feeding frenzies in western Washington. In Clark County thousands of snow geese have been reported in the Vancouver lowlands. One watcher noted 2,000 geese feeding on corn stubble in the area. That stopover reportedly attracted bald eagles, red-tailed hawks and other raptors to the area to see what all the fuss was about. A WDFW biologist in the area also reported seeing a blue goose among a gaggle of white geese. Blue geese are rare but are becoming more common as they move in with increasing numbers of snow geese.
Out Adna-way there are plenty of swans easily viewable along Highway 6 and near Cousins Road and eagles have also been reported in mass congregation on Swift Creek near Delphi Road in southwest Olympia. One observer reported seeing 66 eagles in just one afternoon as they enjoy the remnants of the salmon run.
“The best time to observe the eagles is earlier in the day, rather than later in the evening,” according to the Klickitat Trail Conservancy, a non-profit organization dedicated to preserving the trail. “Be sure to wear warm clothing and bring binoculars and a camera.”
SNOWIN’
Ranger guided snowshoe tours are available at Mount Rainier National Park. Those guided treks at Paradise are offered Saturdays and Sundays from Jan. 6 through April 1. Snowshoe walks and skiing are also offered at Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic National Park on weekends and holiday Mondays through April 1. The walks typically last about 90 minutes.
The going has been good at White Pass as of late as loads of snow have greased the slopes and cold temperatures have kept conditions up to snuff despite heavy usage. A message posted on the ski area’s website on Wednesday read, “The inversion is back with warm temps up top and cold weather in the base area. The surface is good, in fact everything we can groom is groomed!”
The weather at White pass was mostly clear with a few clouds on Wednesday with temperatures between 20 and 38 degrees. There was no new snow reported from Tuesday to Wednesday but the stack at the base is measuring 32 inches with 70 inches packed up at the summit. The slopes are open daily from 8:45 to 4 p.m. with surface lifts, Far East, Great White and Couloir in operation.
